


Fic February - 18

by stubliminalmessaging



Series: Fic!February 2014 - Gallavich Style [18]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fic!February, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day eighteen of fic February. Did someone say Harry Potter AU?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic February - 18

**Author's Note:**

> tentative sorting:  
> mickey + mandy - gryffindor  
> fiona + ian - slytherin  
> debbie + lip - ravenclaw  
> carl - hufflepuff
> 
> alsooooooo ian is a chaser and mickey is a beater

                Ian didn’t even bother to shower after the match, just fumed in his own locker room while he waited for it to clear out. His teammates chalked it up to him being tense and grumpy about their loss so they left him alone but really he was just killing time.

 

                He waited till about ten minutes after his own locker room had cleaned out before he went back out onto the pitch and instead magicked open the door to the other changeroom. It stank of perspiration but it was empty except for the sound of the running shower down a hallway to his right. Ian heard the water turn off. He heard the rustling of a towel, presumably Mickey ruffling his hair dry and then fastening it around his waist. Then he heard wet footsteps on the tile floor.

 

                He lurked on the other side of the wall as he waited for Mickey to pass. Once he did he stepped out and shoved Mickey against the nearest wall.

 

                “-the fuck?!” Mickey cursed, struggling and trying to turn around to face his attacker.

 

                He saw Ian over his shoulder, still dressed in his Slytherin Quidditch uniform and all sweaty and he relaxed just slightly. “Get the fuck off me, Gallagher. We won, don’t be a fuckin’ sore loser.”

 

                Ian scowled, shoving Mickey even harder against the wall. “I don’t care about who won the match. I care that you spent the whole time fucking _targeting_ me!”

 

                “You fuckin’ wish! I know you think you’re hot shit out on the pitch, but I was playing my position!” Mickey pushed away from the wall and Ian let him turn so they were face to face. Ian kept him held against the wall though and he nearly gasped when his naked back hit it.

 

                Ian was on him in a second, kissing him hard and tugging his towel loose so that it fell to the floor. Mickey kissed Ian back, biting at his lips hard enough that he tasted blood between them. That didn’t stop them though; if a little blood had been enough to stop them, they would have given up on it a long time ago because rough was the only they knew how to do it.

 

                Before long Ian had Mickey’s legs around his waist and his fingers pulled hard at his hair and scraped up his back. Ian gave as good as he got, gripping hard at Mickey’s hips and biting at his throat and shoulders. He knew he’d bitch about the marks Ian was leaving but he was pissed off and he’d just lost to Mickey and his stupid fucking Gryffindors and he was just wanted to _fuck Mickey up_. And not in the way he traditionally fucked people up, because Mickey would be expecting that.

 

                He fucked three orgasms out of Mickey, first against the wall, then on all fours, then on his back and he was nearly sobbing from overstimulation by the time Ian finally came and turned him loose.

 

                “By the way, I _am_ great on the pitch,” Ian said when they were done and getting redressed. Ian had taken his shower after all and Mickey had figured he might as well join him since he smelled like raunchy sex anyways. They’d fucked again against the shower wall and seeing the bruises forming on Mickey’s pale skin made him want to do it all again.

 

                “Whatever. See ya tomorrow fuckhead,” Mickey said, lighting a smoke as they walked separate ways across the courtyard. When they parted Ian smirked at how Mickey had to adjust his stance to make it look like walking didn’t hurt.

 

                He was even smugger when he saw Mickey the next day during potions and he struggled not to lean too heavily on the bench as he fucked up at measuring out his ingredients. Ian fixed it for him and Mickey swore at him. It was even better to watch him try and fly his broom at Quidditch practice that night. Ian got a front row seat in the bleachers to watch that happen. He’d offered Mickey some of the Bertie Botts’ he’d brought along and Mickey’d told him to fuck off.


End file.
